


It's not obvious, Anderson (though some things are)

by RedRobotWednesdays



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John, Case Fic, Fluff, Gap Filler, Gen, M/M, One Shot, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock hates anderson, Short, anderson thinks its obvious, but SOME things are, if you get what I mean.., its not obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRobotWednesdays/pseuds/RedRobotWednesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Triple locked room murder. Sherlock is having fun. Anderson is a dick and Lestrade suffers for us all</p><p> </p><p>Case ficlet</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not obvious, Anderson (though some things are)

**Author's Note:**

> A little ficlet/drabble I wrote as a filler when I was minding my grandad the last couple of days. When a 92 year old man wakes you up at 6 30 am because the 'the bins need to be put out Sarah' the only thing to do is write fanfiction. After you put out the bins.

"Three victims. The bank director, his deputy, and a PR agent from the Boxtan corporation. Room locked from the outside. Significant amount of money taken from the vault. We've got people checking the bank pay roll now -" Lestrade was describing the case from where he stood; at the door with his hands on hips when Anderson interrupted;

"Inside job obviously," sounding so very smug. He was meandering about, making unhelpful comments and generally getting in the way.

Lestrade lapsed into silence and observed the consulting detective and his doctor inspecting the room. Which wasn't much of a room really, more of a glorified shoe box; 9 feet wide and about 8 and a half feet long with one door, a pair of windows opposite and two walls in between that were a depressingly muted green colour. There were no tables but it did contain five wheelie chairs that had apparently been arranged for some sort of adult circle-time earlier that day. Now, though, two of those chairs had been shoved back against a wall to make room for the three bodies sprawled haphazardly across the carpet. The blood from them soaked into the fabric to make a macabre ocean between three morbid islands.

John Watson was crouched by one of the bodies (the PR agent). Lestrade was standing beside him near the door and Anderson was 'asserting his authority' as senior forensics officer by trying to boss Sherlock about. John was waiting for the inevitable cat fight and Lestrade was hoping to get some sort of clue or lead before the animosity in the room dissolved into name calling.

Anderson was now complaining to Lestrade about how it was unnecessary to call in the consulting detective as it was so 'obviously an inside job'. Sherlock just snorted from where he was leaning over the body of the bank director.

"What?" Anderson snapped, nasally.

"Obvious. You said it was obvious this was an inside job. Why?"

Anderson sneered and Lestrade opened his mouth to intervene but Anderson butted in snarkily;

"What, losing your touch? The door was locked from the outside and only employees are allowed in this part of the building, there's no other way to get in."

Sherlock moved to the wall opposite the door and was now poking around the windows. John looked up from the body he was examining and leaned a forearm against his knee, careful not to get blood on his jeans, watching him.

"There is a window," Sherlock countered. "And a balcony underneath where the break room is." He ran gloved hands around the plastic frames, poking at the spaces between them and the wallpaper. It was one of those cheap assembly products bought from that Swedish shop everyone seemed so fond of, the some what dodgy looking white plastic kind, two small windows stacked on top of each other and opening outward. Sherlock gave them another once-over look before turning back to the rest of the room and taking a breath.

"This couldn't possibly have been an 'inside job' as you call, really Anderson have you been watching those ridiculous American crime dramas again?" He pointed to each victim in turn. "This one was stabbed in the neck, this one in the femoral artery in the thigh and in the stomach and this one in both kidneys. Efficient spots for a kill wouldn't you say doctor?"

John shifted and nodded. "Fatal areas, would've taken ten - fifteen minutes tops for them to bleed out."

Sherlock nodded and turned toward Lestrade. "Hardly the work of a bank teller, most inexperienced killers go for the heart or flank, most of time hitting ribs or spine, seriously but not mortally wounding their would-be victims. This was someone trained, an assassin. When you finally finish going through the employee lists you will find all accounted for during the time of the murders, I assure you there will be no one on that list with this sort of skill set. Furthermore, the stolen money. The money was taken from the vault but it was not random, all three victims had open accounts in this bank and if you check the amount taken you will see that it was all removed from their personal deposit boxes. It was not an inside job and it was not a random theft, these people were being targeted."

Sherlock flicked off his disposable gloves with a self-satisfied air. Anderson was scowling ferociously at him but the detective took no notice, instead raising an eyebrow at the other detective in the room. Lestrade had crossed his arms and was looking back with brow furrowed.

"Hang on, let's just say, for the moment, you're right -" Sherlock snorted "- yeah alright, then how did the killer get in?" Sherlock heaved a sigh and turned on his heels dramatically to face back towards the windows. He gestured to them.

"These windows are about half a foot in length each and 14 centimetres in width, what does that tell you detective inspector?"

"That this was a very tiny assassin?" he drawled. "Come off it, no one would fit through there."

Sherlock aimed a scowl over his shoulder and was obviously about to launch into another tirade about ordinary people and their stupidity and blindness when John spoke up. He'd been squinting at the windows for the past few minutes and couldn't shake that they looked.. odd. Then something Sherlock had said occurred to him;

"You said _a_ window, not _these_ windows."

And Sherlock just beamed at him. John almost felt like blushing at the pride in his eyes. Anderson wrinkled his nose and made vague gagging sounds.

"Good, John. Very good." They smiled at each other for a long moment until Lestrade rolled his eyes and coughed pointedly.

"Well, get on with it then; do the explanation part," he flapped his hand at Sherlock and sighed. Sherlock looked away from the doctor and cleared his throat.

"Yes, well.. This window is a replacement; you can see the scratches and marks where it was forced into a frame it was not built for. It is also slightly off centre here, and here. There used to be one large window here, earlier today before the murders, large enough for someone to fit through - and someone did. They waited outside, on some sort of crane if the tyre tracts below are any indication, until they knew their targets were inside. They then climbed through the window, expertly knocked out and killed the three workers, without raising the alarm. Replaced the window with two smaller ones to throw idiots like you, Anderson, off, took the keycards from the bodies, locked the door and walked out of here with a rather large sum of money via the front door. Successfully making it look like an inside job; perhaps a disgruntled employee just been fired, or a desperate minimum wage worker when it was most likely a coup in an attempt to seize control of the narcotics trafficking ring that these three were running in Baltimore."

John exhaled in a sort of shaky laugh and shook his head, grinning. "that's brilliant, Sherlock," he stood and took off his own gloves and Sherlock preened and Anderson gaped and Lestrade blinked.

Finally Anderson snapped; "That is - That's _ridiculous_! You couldn't possibly guess all that from a crooked window!"

The tall man bristled and then adjusted his coat and drew himself up to his full height. "I never guess," he snapped haughtily, glaring.

He turned to Lestrade; "Check the secuirity footage; there will be a woman walking out of this building with a large bag approximately 30 minutes after this murder was commited who will not be on file."

Lestrade blinked some more as Sherlock stalked toward him. "A woman?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes of course a woman," Sherlock grated out, his shoulders were tense as if he could physically feel the stupidity of the room weighing him down. "Can you honestly not smell her perfume in the room?" and with that he swept out.

John smiled a goodbye and an apology at Lestrade, something he had perfected after the first week of living with his incredibly rude, fantastic detective, as he followed. He ignored Anderson.

Out in the hall Sherlock was waiting for him, for once.

"I didn't smell any perfume," John said, looking up at him. Why would an assassin wear perfume?

"Nor did I. I just wanted to see that," the detective replied, face serious, nodding back toward the crime scene before taking off down the hall to the lifts. John glanced back inside and burst out laughing at the DI, the two police officers and Anderson all trying to nonchalantly sniff the air.

He shook his head and hurried after Sherlock who was holding the lift impatiently.

"Chinese?"

"Chinese."

**Author's Note:**

> Second part - John's POV - of Hamsters are Volatile up this Sunday! :)


End file.
